The ship drifts like a piece of driftwood on an ocean's surface. The R.C. Longfox has holes blown straight through it, a miracle that the structure itself can stay in tact as it meanders in a backdrop of space

From within a few are still strapped into life-support machines, survival cones that can protect them against space. Keeping human or alien locked within a deep sleep for sixty-eight hours. If no help has found them or a suitable environment, a permanent sleep (of a more lasting nature) finds them. In their slumber, the occupants of the survival cones do not know that their uncharted, erratic course has lead them to where no human or alien has ever been. The R.C. Longfox has been reduced in size, losing three of its side wings and seventy-one percent of its hull. An unlikely voyager amongst the new stars the ship is almost at an end. Broken, brittle debris showers off. The remaining survival cones now push away on their own power, separating into different directions. The ship's computers give one final, pathetic attempt to release cones. But the Red Cross vessel cracks and splinters into pieces killing eighty-seven percent of survivors in the cones, trapped within it.